


Havoc Wrought

by cystemic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Captured, Chiss, Double Agents, Empire, Gen, Imperial Intelligence, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Nar Shaddaa, Original Character(s), Phantom - Freeform, Prisoner of War, Republic, Science Fiction, Shadow Town, Soldiers, Thunderclap, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cystemic/pseuds/cystemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Cold War continues eleven years after the Treaty of Coruscant which negotiated an uneasy peace between the Republic and the Empire. The fighting takes place in the shadows, conducted by covert intelligence organizations unseen by the public eye. On the surface all appears well but deep down the citizens of the galaxy remain tense as the two super powers tread the same ground and the smallest conflict could once again ignite the sparks of war.</p><p>Imperial Intelligence and the Strategic Information Service pit their best agents against each other in an attempt to gain the upper hand before the inevitable war breaks out. While soldiers fighting on the front lines are forced to maintain their silence to keep the tentative peace throughout the galaxy.</p><p>After negotiations for the release of their prisoners of war turn sour, the Republic sends its infamous Havoc Squad to the unaligned world of Nar Shaddaa to liberate them. Little do they suspect that the SIS has already despatched another covert operative to deal with the prisoners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Viper Caged

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic about a Chiss Imperial Agent named Soren Talfiss. Takes place just after Quesh. Hope you like it :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a mission to Nar Shaddaa, Agent Soren Talfiss encounters the leader of the infamous Havoc Squad, Everyn Brask and his team.

"Weird looking, isn't he?" said a deep, gravelly voice on his right.

He heard the scratching of plasteel as the source of the question shifted lazily against the wall. Was it a Houk? Weequay?

"He's a Chiss, Specialist Vik," replied a rather incensed female voice from the other side of the room. "He's perfectly dashing the way he is."

Human. Imperial accent. Was he being held captive by the Empire? No. Imperials didn't deal with brutish aliens, not in interrogation anyway.

"Eeh, you humans are weird looking too," Vik scoffed. "All pink and squishy. Wouldn't stand a chance without any armour."

"Alright, enough chit-chat. Dorne, break out the kolto and wake up your boyfriend, we haven't got all day," a third gruff voice sounded. There was a slight echo, as though he were standing just outside the doorway and the way he rolled his 'r's... a Cathar?

"He is not my boyfriend, sir," replied the flustered female voice, followed by the sound of rummaging in a medkit.

Soren felt his head pounding as the world swam into view, blurry and vague. He was sitting on a chair, binders locking his wrists behind his back, durasteel floor, three hostiles in the room. They had taken his weapons, taken his military jacket which had concealed even more of his weapons but he still had his trousers and the 6 blades hidden within them.

He would need 10 seconds to pick the lock. Wait for the medic to get close, headbutt, throw her towards the first hostile, disarm and neutralize the third hostile with concealed vibroknife, then make a run for it.

No, too risky. No visual on his environment yet. What if there were more of them? He needed leverage.

The woman named Dorne was coming towards him now. 5 seconds. He could hear the tinkle of the syringe as she gently tapped it with a fingernail. 4 seconds. She was in front of him now, he could see her legs, armoured in white plasteel, Republic standard issue. 3 seconds. She knelt down to administer the dosage. 2 seconds. Come on, come on. 1 second. She pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the sapphire skin of his left arm.

The binders were off.

Using his right hand, he intercepted the needle as it neared his artery, twisting his body out from under it and around the woman. With a deft flick of the wrist, he brought a vibroknife out of his hidden trouser pocket and crossed his arms in front of her neck, pointing both weapons at her jugular. He continued to twist, spinning them around until his back was against the wall and they were facing the two other men.

One, a scaly grey Weequay of great height and build, the other, a feline Cathar man with golden brown fur. They were both clad in white armour, emblazoned with an orange starship logo.

Havoc Squad.

Soren had read about them in several dossiers and none of it was good. Republic infantry squadron 326, also known as Havoc Squad, was famed for being incredibly competent in guerilla warfare. They had even bested Darth Malgus with the help of Jedi Master Satele Shan. But that was a long time ago. Soren knew that Havoc Squad had recently chosen to defect to the Empire meaning the sentients in the room were just greenhorns filling in their shoes. Best probability of escape, 36%.

"Move and she dies," Soren spoke calmly, his voice a little husky from being unconscious for so long.

The Cathar had already pointed a blaster at his head, dead centred on the bridge of Soren's nose. A sniper's aim.

"Let. Her. Go," he growled angrily, a menacing glare ruffling his bristling furr.

Soren stared back at him, red eyes glowing in the darkness of the empty supply closet who's single light source had grown faint with age. He could see the Cathar was unsettled but his hands didn't shake and his aim remained true. A career soldier.

The Weequay didn't seem to care much for the situation, leaning against the wall as though nothing had changed. A pirate? Mercenary? Either way, he was with Havoc Squad now.

In the deadly silence of their stalemate, Soren considered the ramifications of murdering the Republic's prized infantry squadron. Sure, he could get away with it on Nar Shaddaa; dump the bodies, plant some evidence and fly away clean but Ardun Kothe would know better. If Havoc Squad turned up dead in Shadow Town just as Soren had left it, Kothe would put two and two together. His secret allegiance to the Empire would be revealed and then he'd use the mind control to make sure Soren never had an independent thought ever again. He had to get out of this with all the players alive and there was only so much charm you could exude when you were pointing two blades at a woman's throat.

"I don't want to hurt you," Soren whispered shakily in Dorne's ear, adding just a quiver of fear to make it believable.

"Please..." she gasped through the steel of the weapons holding up her head "...just let me go..."

Perfect. He would appear to be sympathetic, let doubt cloud his expression, then subtly release his grip as if he were moved by her words.

Dorne took the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach and he played his part well, throwing his arms wide open with an _"oof,"_ and staggering back against the wall. She scurried away to the Cathar's side and Soren threw up his hands in surrender.

 _"Drop it,"_ the Cathar demanded, his blaster still pointed at Soren's face.

Releasing his grip, the syringe and the vibroknife fell from Soren's hands and clanked onto the floor.

He kicked them away.

They were all looking at him now. Fear. Resentment. Not a promising start. The Weequay still seemed in good humour though.

"Haha, your boyfriend's quicker than a Nexu in heat. Deadly too," he chuckled, grinning derisively at Dorne.

She did not reciprocate. Her attention was on Soren, who put on his most innocent face, trying to soften his appearance but blue skin and glowing red eyes made for a poor first impression.

"Who are you?" the Cathar growled, maintaining his gunpoint.

Soren took a deep breath, projecting shame and embarassment into his voice, shifting his eyes to the floor.

"I'm- I _was_ Cipher Nine. I work for the SIS as an Imperial spy. Codename: Legate," he said with just enough empathy.

He looked up at Dorne and their eyes met.

"I'm sorry, I attacked you," he apologized sincerely. "I heard your accent and I thought the Imps had finally discovered me."

He looked down again, waiting for their reaction.

"You're with the SIS?" Dorne asked quietly.

"The hell he is!" the Cathar growled. "He's an Imperial spy alright. And I know exactly what to do with him."

Soren ducked pre-emptively just before the blaster went off, hitting the floor hard. The bolt left a nasty burn in the wall where his head had been a split second ago.

"Lieutenant!" Dorne called out. "We do not execute prisoners without a fair trial! It's clearly stated under regulation 348-f..."

"Fair trial?! Where was the fair trial for the people he massacred in Shadow Town?"

Soren stayed down, fearing another shot from the edgy Cathar but the question seemed to hang in the air. He weighed the pros and cons of speaking, telling them all those men had been convicted criminals, each with his own death mark but decided against it. Instead, he chose to play the role of the sorrowful anti-hero, too full of regret to speak.

Suddenly there was a hiss of sliding doors nearby and Soren could hear the clacking of boots and clanking of magnapeds as someone and something walked in. The Cathar went to turn his head but stopped when he realized Soren was still there.

"Everyone out."

He waved to Dorne and Vik with his free hand and they readily obeyed his order, revealing his higher rank.

"And you..." he snarled, picking up his knife. "Don't. _Move._ "

The door to the small room slammed shut behind him and Soren was left alone with only a toppled chair for company. He could hear the muffled salutes and explanations through the door. The commanding officer was on deck. Soon, he would come to interrogate Soren personally but for now he had time to think through his options, polish his story, identify the best course of action.

He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should call Kaliyo for help but then thought better than to interrupt a drunk in the middle of drinking. She was probably still moping about her dead ex-partners and drowning herself in some skeezy cantina on the Promenade. It wasn't like he had his holocom anyway. Times like this, Soren half-wished he'd agreed to those cybernetic implants which Imperial Intelligence kept offering him. He was going to have talk his way out of this one. Alone.

Carefully weaving together a plausible cover story, Soren chose to divulge almost the entire truth, as far as the SIS knew it. If he was going to be cross-checked with Intelligence, they'd find no flaw in his words. Perhaps he might even play on the soldiers' sense of loyalty to the Republic.

The back of his head pounded as he felt an a unpleasant lump swelling under his dishevelled hair. The dark, midnight blue strands hung loosely about his face and he habitually brushed them back out of his eyes, unknotting the tangled mess. Did he have a concussion?

He was certainly experiencing severe head pain and who knows how long he'd been unconcious for. A lump in his throat suggested that he was nauseated and probably would have thrown up if his gag reflex hadn't been tamed into non-existence. He sat up and leaned against the wall, head spinning. Definitely a concussion.

He looked down at his shirt, its once crisp white sleeves were torn and bloodstained, his protective vest missing and replaced with bandages. No doubt the woman named Dorne had patched him up after the altercation.

Soren closed his eyes, trying to recall what happened.

He was in Shadow Town. The final mark was in his sights, he need only pull the trigger.

Hidden on a balcony overlooking the recreational area of the prison, Soren had selected the optimal position to fell his targets as they moved around the facility, exercising. As each one walked idly around the same corner, a swift, silent shot swept through their skulls and they collapsed into a sewage pipe, unseen. Easy pickings.

Soren remembered breathing out every atom of oxygen and holding himself steady as he took the shot, straight through the eye of his target.

Mission accomplished.

He began to stand up slowly, stretching the fatigue from his own limbs when a loud mechanized voice sounded from across the yard.

"Imperial scum!" announced a battle droid from a catwalk on the opposite side of the facility, its blasters primed and locked on Soren's location.

He had just enough time to pull out his energy field generator and crouch down beneath it as the droid fired a barrage of missiles from its enormous metal chassis. The shield took the brunt of the blast but Soren was thrown back against the wall with incredible force, shrapnel flying from the remains of the balcony and his energy field. He crossed his arms in front of his face just as the rubble came tumbling down...

 _"What kind of droid packs that much firepower?"_ he thought to himself, rubbing the back of his head. Surely not one Soren had ever heard of. It had to be a Republic invention, perhaps they'd found a way to work around the limitations inherrent in the half life of standard power cores.

He would need to be more careful next time. Find some way to slice such a droid before it could spot him and adjust the shield generator to withstand the force. He needed to be better, faster, stronger. Or at the very least, alive.

Soren went over his cover story again, probing for flaws and holes in the fabric of deceit. Satisfied that he could not be tripped up by any inane questions, he began thinking of a backup plan. There was no guarantee that they would believe him or that he could prove he was with SIS, in which case he would have to fight his way out.

He glanced towards the medkit Dorne had forgotten in the corner and began tearing up his sleeve. This could get messy.


	2. Divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the altercation, Havoc Squad discuss what to do with their prisoner and receive an unexpected call...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Sergeant Elara Dorne is the medical officer for Havoc Squad. Human.  
> Lieutenant Aric Jorgan is second in command. Cathar.  
> Specialist Tanno Vik is the Havoc Squad's demolitions expert. Weequay.  
> M1-4X is a one-of-a-kind combat droid powered by a unique power core and developed especially for Havoc Squad.  
> Captain Everyn Brask is the leader of Havoc Squad. Human/cyborg.  
> Ardun Kothe is head of his own personal division with the SIS.

"He almost killed you!" Everyn shouted. "And you're defending this Imp?"

"He didn't hurt me. He was in a desperate situation and acted desperately. There's no reason we shouldn't at least try to verify what he's saying is true," Dorne replied curtly.

"I told you to patch him up so he'd survive the trip back to Coruscant, why were you in there in the first place?" Everyn demanded, removing his helmet.

"Lieutenant Jorgan thought it best to question the prisoner so we could ascertain the correct jurisdiction under which-"

"Jorgan? This has you and your bleeding heart written all over it, Sergeant!" Everyn interrupted. "Every time we catch an Imperial, you think you can play saving grace and convince them to defect to the Republic. But not all Imperials are like you!" he reprimanded.

Dorne's upper lip stiffened and her dazzling blue eyes lost some of their fervour. She opened her mouth to speak but Everyn didn't let her.

"Do you know how many bodies they found in the sewers, Dorne?" he asked angrily. "Sixteen! Sixteen people in prison uniforms just floating around with the garbage. And that monster put them there!"

"He's not a monster," Dorne said quietly.

"Why?! Because he didn't kill you when he had the chance?"

Everyn was furious. He wasn't much for shouting at his subordinates, especially without cause but Dorne's actions had put her in grave danger. For the first time, he realized how much he cared about the young woman. He wanted to keep her safe but the words weren't coming out right.

"No," she replied. "We kill just as many people every day. We're soldiers, we don't question orders. What makes him so different?" Dorne spoke without her usual official tone. 

"What if he'd killed sixteen Imperials? Would you call him a monster, then?" She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "Would you call me a monster if I hadn't defected?"

Everyn opened his mouth, ready to argue but then closed it, unable to think of a reply. Dorne had been suffering the scrutiny of every Republic official from Corellia to Coruscant since the day she switched sides. Not a week went by without a call from the Republic's Personnel Division to probe her on any Imperial thoughts she may be having. Every commanding officer she served under had blantantly called out her accent and strict adherence to regulations as incurably Imperial.

But Everyn had seen her dedication to the Republic first hand, her unwavering loyalty and ceaseless effort. It was hard to imagine that all of that had once belonged to the Empire. It was harder still to imagine himself in her shoes, defecting to a foreign power, giving up his family, his life, himself. 

Everyn sighed. Her big, blue eyes were accusing him of a hatred he did not feel and he could no longer maintain eye contact, turning away.

"He said he was with SIS?" he asked the Cathar Lieutenant.

"Yes, sir. An Imperial spy codename: Legate," Jorgan replied.

"Hmmm, can we contact Balkar? See if he knows anything?" Everyn thought aloud.

"I guess," Jorgan growled with distaste.

Suddenly, the chirping ring of a holocommunicator rang out across the main deck, turning the heads of Havoc Squad towards the holo terminal in the center but it remained undisturbed. Sergeant Dorne quickly realized the sound was coming from the Agent's personal effects which she'd left in the medical bay. Excusing herself, she walked into the adjacent room and returned promptly with a hand-held device trilling in her palm.

"Should we answer it, sir?" she asked, placing it on top of the central terminal.

"50 credits says it's an Imperial lackey calling to check on his pet." Vik grinned diabolically. 

"All the better to face our foe!" vocabulated M1-4X, shifting its weight from leg to leg.

"I don't like this. Could be a trap." Jorgan frowned, suspicious as always.

"Only one way to find out," Everyn declared, tapping the device.

The ringing stopped and was replaced by an angry beeping as the encrypted holocom denied him access. When the beeping quieted, Everyn sighed, hands on his hips. Of course, it was encrypted.

They still hadn't found a decent slicer to join Havoc and it was times like these that Everyn felt really understaffed. There was no way of breaking open that holocom without outside assistance and that meant he was incapable of completing his mission. Inadequate.

But his thoughts quickly dissipated as the ship's central holocommunication unit lit up with an incoming transmission from an unknown caller. Everyn turned to glance at the rest of his Squad who were all eagerly watching the terminal in anticipation. A quick tap of a button and the mysterious caller appeared as a large blue ghost on top of the central holo terminal.

"Well, well, well. This is a surprise," said the mysterious man, a composed smile brightening his face, "If it isn't the infamous Havoc Squad?" 

The man was human, plain as day, his face weathered by time and experience but his dark hair was cut short, military-style. He wore a brown operative suit with a long cape but there was no mistaking the hilt of a lightsaber hanging from his belt. A Jedi? A Sith?

"My name is Ardun Kothe, I'm with the SIS. It's a pleasure to meet you Captain Brask," he said in a friendly tone.

Everyn was unsure of what to say. How did he get this holofrequency? How did he know his name and rank? Why was he contacting him now? Perhaps the man currently locked up in their supply closet was telling the truth...

He was with the Strategic Information Service. The Republic's answer to Imperial Intelligence. Nondescript agents of all races and walks of life, scouring the galaxy for information and dealing with outside threats in the shadows of the Republic. Everyn knew they had the best interests of the Republic at heart but their methods were sometimes questionable to say the least. It came as no surprise that they would employ an Imperial spy, only that he had not killed them all yet.

"Uh, what can I do for you, sir?" Everyn replied earnestly, straightening up to attention.

"You haven't happened to have seen an associate of mine, have you, Captain?" Kothe asked politely, his voice husky but honest. "Tall blue fellow, red eyes, good looking, incredibly suave?"

The pieces were falling into place. The Chiss had to belong to Kothe, which meant his killing the prisoners in Shadow Town had been directly ordered by the SIS. Everyn gritted his teeth, swallowing his pride and trying to maintain his professionalism.

"I have indeed, sir. We found him using prisoners in the maximum security ward down in Shadow Town for target practice," Everyn said conversationally.

"Ah, well. He does have a knack for it, eh? Wouldn't want him defecting back to the Empire now, would we?" Kothe replied smoothly. "Codename Legate is under my command, Captain and his actions serve my purpose. You understand," he said. It was not a question.

Everyn narrowed his eyes, he never liked dealing with the SIS. Too much left unsaid, too much implied. It was never a straight answer with these people and he was always expected to take someone's word for it.

"I'd like to speak to him, if I may?" Kothe requested politely, no tension or emotion on his face.

"I'm afraid he's unconcious, sir. He was badly injured in an altercation with M1-4X. My medical officer is treating his wounds," Everyn lied. There was something about this man he didn't trust and he needed time to figure him out. "Perhaps we can contact you when he wakes up?"

"I see. That's too bad. Very well, use this holofrequency to contact me as soon as he's conscious. However, I must emphasize the importance of my being the first to speak to him, Captain." Kothe frowned. 

Was that a threat? Or a warning? Everyn couldn't tell but he saluted with a "Yes, sir," to confirm he understood.

"Kothe out," he ended the communication.

Everyn breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face the crew. They were all a mixed bag of emotions, except Jorgan who was wearing his customary scowl coupled with the deeply furrowed brow he reserved for dealings with the SIS. 

"H-he was telling the truth, then?" Dorne uttered in disbelief. "He's a defector..."

Everyn could see a tiny smile starting to bloom across her face and the twinkle in her eye returned.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Sergeant," he said, raining on her parade, "I don't trust this Kothe character. Jorgan, contact Balkar and General Garza, see what they know about Ardun Kothe. I'm going to have a little chat with the prisoner. The rest of you, dismissed."

Everyn walked off towards the cargo hold as the rest of Havoc dispersed across the ship to perform their various duties. The supply closet was in the back of the cargo hold. They'd kept it empty ever since Vik had tried using it to smuggle prototype blasters off Tatooine. But it wasn't empty anymore.

Everyn had never been a fearful man. He never ran from a fight and always kept his eyes open when he pulled the trigger, aware of the consequences, but something about this alien made him incredibly uncomfortable.

They had been sent to break out a ward of Imperial prisoners on Nar Shaddaa. The mission was clear. An assault on Shadow Town, a search of their maximum security ward and a rescue of all the Republic captives found inside. Straight forward, simple, downright suicidal for anyone other than Havoc Squad but an easy mission nonetheless. 

He hadn't expected to find half the prisoners missing when they got there. It was only through sheer dumb luck that Everyn had chosen to take M1-4X with him. The droid was able to use its ultrasonic scanners to sweep the area and detect the near silent projectile bolts of the Agent's sniper rifle. Overzealous in his occupation, the droid launched all its heavy ordinance as soon as it identified the threat, enough to wipe out an entire platoon on the battlefield. But somehow, this single man had survived.

When later, Everyn shifted some of the rubble, expecting to find his corpse, a strong blue hand grabbed his arm and pulled the rest of his body out from the debris. The Chiss drew a blade out of the back of his jacket which unfolded into two sharp prongs, crackling with electricity. Not a second later, the blade entered M1-4X's chassis, impaling its servomotors and shutting down its behavioural circuitry matrix. Everyn took the opportunity to knock him out with the butt of his assault cannon. But his relief was soon replaced with fear as he realized the man was still breathing, merely unconscious.

Another second and M1-4X would not have been the only cripple on Havoc Squad and Human flesh was not so easily mended. It took everything he had, not to put a bolt between the alien's eyes there and then, but Everyn managed to stay his fire until the rest of the team arrived. 

He shuddered. If Ardun Kothe was really SIS, then this alien was working for the Republic too which meant they were all on the same side. Still, something about the man felt wrong and Everyn had learned to trust his gut. 

He realized that he had been standing in front of the supply closet door for a few minutes now, unable to enter. From what Dorne had said, this guy shouldn't be able to move, let alone stand and yet...

With a deep breath, he readied his blaster and punched the switch controlling the door. It slid open with a hiss.

The light inside the supply closet had been an in-joke among Havoc Squad ever since they boarded the Thunderclap.  
_'Powered by the good will of every politician on Coruscant,'_ they had joked. Well, it seemed that good will had run out. Whether by the Agent's design or its own ineptitude, the light had died, leaving the interior of his makeshift prison in complete darkness.

"Can someone _please_ fix the generator?!" Everyn called out in annoyance. "The light's gone out again." 

He heard the scrambling of several people resolved to fix the same problem and relaxed a little. Even if he was attacked, the rest of Havoc would be here to back him up. He took a tentative step into the doorway, the hum of his blaster bolstering his courage as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 

"Hello?" he called out, wondering if the Chiss was unconscious again.

The sound of his voice awakened two bright red orbs which pierced the darkness. His heart skipped a beat and he swiftly pointed a blaster at them, hoping to discourage an attack. There were no pupils or irises to gauge where the Chiss was looking, no whites to determine the direction of his sight, simply two glowing red eyes that bore into Everyn's soul.

The machinations of his colleagues proved fruitful and assisted the light in the supply closet to flicker back to life, illuminating the usually empty chamber. Everyn could suddenly see the ragged blue-skinned man sitting on the floor and squinting at the unexpected brightness of his prison. He didn't look as dangerous as he remembered. 

Beneath a torn unbuttoned shirt, Everyn could see the myriad of bloodstained bandages that covered his torso. His face bloomed with black bruises that circled his eyes but didn't diminished his good looks. He pushed his dark blue hair out of his face with his left hand, shielding his eyes from the light; breathing ragged and pained.

"Hello," he said.


	3. Face To Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Everyn Brask confronts the prisoner and tries to get a straight answer out of the Agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Sergeant Elara Dorne is the medical officer for Havoc Squad. Human.  
> Lieutenant Aric Jorgan is second in command. Cathar.  
> Specialist Tanno Vik is the Havoc Squad's demolitions expert. Weequay.  
> M1-4X is a one-of-a-kind combat droid powered by a unique power core and developed especially for Havoc Squad.  
> Captain Everyn Brask is the leader of Havoc Squad. Human/cyborg.  
> Ardun Kothe is head of his own personal division with the SIS.

Soren stared up at the man in the doorway. His head almost reached the frame, making his approximate height around two meters. Powerfully built and covered in white plasteel armour, just like the rest of Havoc Squad, his broad, muscular shoulders spanned the entire doorway. 

The Chiss squinted through the growing light, spotting several cybernetic implants lining the soldier's tanned brown face. 

Communications relay, targeting suite, enhanced memory, he could have any number of upgrades that would make this exchange a lot more difficult than he anticipated.

The blaster in his hands was obviously not his weapon of choice but Soren could understand why wielding an assault cannon in such a tightly enclosed space might be a problem. That could work to his advantage but this guy was no pushover, the crafty Chiss would have his work cut out for him if it came to violence.

"You. Stay on the ground and keep your hands where I can see 'em," the man demanded.

Soren showed him the palm of his hand before weakly returning it to the ground.

"I'm not going anywhere," he lied, shrugging with resignation. He hoped the soldier would let down his guard if he appeared weakened but he showed no sign of lowering his blaster. 

"What's your name?" the trooper began his interrogation. Soren's ears caught the provincial Republic inflection and began mulling it over.

"I am Cipher 9," he repeated passively, "I work for the SIS as an Imperial spy. Codename: Legate."

"Yeah, I already know that. You said as much to my squad," the man retorted, his expression grave. There was no trust there. Soren could only tell him so much before he smelled a rat.

"Then you'll also know that I'm not authorized to tell you any more," he reasoned. If this man was the commanding officer and the Cathar Lieutenant was next in charge, then he was likely a Captain in the Republic Army. Judging by his size and his gait, the trooper specialized in heavy weapons and guerilla warfare, not interrogation. Soren could do as he pleased. 

"You understand how the SIS operates, don't you?" his own Imperial accent made him sound a tad condescending. 

The soldier smirked, discernibly sensitive to comments about his intelligence. 

"Yeah, I know how it works," he grumbled, "but you're gonna tell me anyway."

There it was again. Hidden beneath layers of military drill and Coruscanti Basic, was the smallest hint of a rural trader's dialect, common among planets along the Hydian Way. If there's one thing they shared, it was a deeply instilled hatred for the Empire who'd blockaded them during the war. Soren could almost picture the young boy who left his home to join the army and protect the Republic. A patriot.

"Why did you kill those people?" he asked bluntly. Evidently, the question had been burning in his mind and he hadn't the tact for the subtle art of interrogation. He hadn't even introduced himself.

"Those were my orders," Soren replied simply, the threatening posture of the trooper ineffectual. At this rate, he would have to interrogate himself. 

"Orders from who? The SIS?" the soldier demanded. "Did the Republic tell you to kill those people?!" 

Soren lowered his head and looked away guiltily, emphatic enough to answer his question without saying a word. The trooper gulped audibly, disgusted by the hypocrisy of his own people. 

_Morals, Soren thought. They really did sow chaos within the Republic. Half of them willing to die for their ideals and the rest ready to undermine every founding principle of the Republic to crush their enemies. Such dysfunction could only be rivalled by the Sith and their constant schemes and powerplays. No wonder they were at a stalemate._

The Agent sighed, he was going to have to move this along. He looked up at the trooper with sad eyes and said, "All I can tell you is that we're on the same side."

The soldier stared back at him intensely, unconvinced. 

"And I'm supposed to believe that?! We found you wearing an Imperial uniform, shooting down Republic citizens and you're saying we're on the same side?"

"Let me put it this way," Soren spoke softly, "if the Empire wanted those prisoners dead, wouldn't it be easier to simply march them in front of a firing squad?" 

He let the soldier thread together the causality of an Imperial Agent eliminating potential informants from within the Empire's own prison and his face soon displayed the realization of the truth. The Republic needed to eliminate those prisoners before they revealed any secrets to the Empire. Soren doubted he'd piece together that their war crimes were also classified and couldn't be revealed to the Republic media but it was a start. He was detracting attention away from his actions and onto the leadership, making the trooper question his superiors. This was almost too easy.

"I know I haven't been very forthcoming but perhaps you could tell me your name," Soren chanced, invoking his casual charm. He had been leading this man by the nose and if he could keep him from pulling the trigger for a few more minutes, this may just end without a fight.

His thoughts interrupted by the question, the soldier automatically answered the call. "Captain Everyn Brask, Republic Infantry Squad 326." 

Soren smiled internally, this man was definitely not up to the standard of the interrogators he was used to. In all likelihood, he was here of his own accord, intent on getting justice for the prisoners Soren had assassinated but now his resolve had been shaken.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain," he said sincerely, "...considering the circumstances." 

Everyn did not reply, he was far more preoccupied with the idea that the SIS had ordered a hit on their own men, and by the hand of an Imperial no less. He stared at the Chiss, who's countenance remained passive. He hadn't told him anything he didn't already know but a lot had become clearer. 

"You really a defector?" Everyn asked, summoning all of his empathy.

"Yes. I work for a man named Ardun Kothe," Soren revealed, tired of waiting for Everyn to ask the right questions.

Brask's eyes lit up with surprise, a clear sign he knew who he was talking about. Now came the dumbfounded stare and...

"I'll be back," he said and backed out of the room, locking the door on his way out.

Soren rolled his eyes. These Republic types were entirely too trusting.


	4. Mind Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Havoc Squad carefully guard the prisoner as they contact Ardun Kothe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Sergeant Elara Dorne is the medical officer for Havoc Squad. Human.  
> Lieutenant Aric Jorgan is second in command. Cathar.  
> Specialist Tanno Vik is the Havoc Squad's demolitions expert. Weequay.  
> M1-4X is a one-of-a-kind combat droid powered by a unique power core and developed especially for Havoc Squad.  
> Captain Everyn Brask is the leader of Havoc Squad. Human/cyborg.  
> Ardun Kothe is head of his own personal division with the SIS.
> 
> Screenshots:  
> http://cystemic.tumblr.com/swtorocs
> 
> Fanart:  
> http://cystemic.tumblr.com/fanart

"Alright, get up, hands behind your head," the Captain commanded, pointing a blaster at his chest.

Jorgan was not nearly so polite, sticking his weapon right up to the prisoner's temple.

Soren winced as he slowly peeled himself off the wall, holding up one hand and using the other for support. Or so they thought. He carefully lifted himself off the ground, one arm hidden beneath his torn sleeve. He leaned on the wall as his shaky legs shifted the weight of his body, heavy from injury and swelling.

The sound of crackling bones echoed in the supply closet as he straightened his back and lifted both arms up, linking his fingers behind his head.

"Alright, no funny business or we shoot," Brask warned him.

 _"What's funny is you trying to intimidate me with that accent..."_ Soren thought to himself as he nodded to concede.

He could hear the Cathar growling quietly to his left. This man had the right idea but thankfully he wasn't in charge.

They gestured for him to move and he took a few laboured steps towards the door, feeling some of his bandages swell with fresh blood as a broken rib poked at his flesh. 

The soldiers coralled him out into the cargo bay where the Weequay Specialist was waiting with a shotgun and a smirk on his face.

 _"Better,"_ Soren thought, _"but that won't be enough..."_ continuing to walk as they ushered him out of the cargo bay.

Sergeant Dorne was waiting at the end of the corridor, her blaster drawn and trained on his heart but he could see the doubt in her eye. Unsure. Unpredictable.

She backed up onto the main deck as Soren approached, followed by the rest of Havoc holding him at gunpoint. He came to a stop in front of the central holoterminal.

"Halt right there, Imperial villain!" M1-4X vocabulated.

Soren did so, eyeing the giant machine to his left. The assault droid stood on three squared legs which balanced a large, white chassis and a prodigious supply of integrated weaponry. Its head suddenly retracted into its body, craning an assault cannon over its durasteel skull to point squarely at Soren's face.

 _"That's going to be an issue..."_ he thought to himself, noting the patchwork on the golden power core hidden deep within the droid's wiring and exoskeleton.

"On your knees," commanded the Cathar Lieutenant, watching him slump to the ground.

The rest of Havoc Squad circled him and the Captain walked over to the holoterminal, initiating a call to an unknown frequency. Soren patiently knelt in the center of their ring of suppression, hands linked behind his head. He wondered who they were contacting. It had been approximately an hour since the Captain had left him alone.

Soren could have scoured half the galaxy for information by now but he doubted these soldiers had the resources or the proper clearance to run any kind of practical background check on someone who didn't have a real name. Their first course of action would be to contact their commanding officer, General Garza, if he recalled correctly, who was directly in charge of Havoc Squad. The CO would then contact SIS on their behalf to ascertain the truth of his claims. 

Hopefully, Kothe would respond to the query and get him out of this mess diplomatically. The alternative was less than agreeable. If Havoc decided to take him to Coruscant to be tried and punished, he could spill all of Kothe's dirty little secrets and kill anyone who tried to get in his way, probably die in the process. 2.46% chance of survival, given his current injuries.

But he knew Kothe wouldn't risk it and his worries were assuaged when his ghostly blue form appeared on top the holoterminal. Evidently aware of Soren's predicament, he smirked as he looked down at the Agent surrounded by five heavily armed Republic troopers. 

"Captain Brask, good to see you again," he greeted them with a nod, "Havoc Squad."

"We have your agent, Kothe," Brask replied pointedly.

Ardun's mouth slipped into a small, knowing smile.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Imperial defector?" he crooned. "You look like you just got trampled by a herd of banthas. Are you alright?"

Soren kept his expression as neutral as possible, his glowing red eyes focused on the holo. "I'm fine. Just enjoying the Republic hospitality..."

"I'll give you hospitality!" Jorgan growled.

Soren felt the back of his skull crack as the butt of a blaster came crashing down on his head. 

"Jorgan! Stand down!" Everyn barked as Soren shook his head, wincing from the pain. He managed to right himself and open his eyes again, thankful for the flexicrete hairspray he had used to protect his head that morning.

"I'd appreciate it if you restrained yourself from damaging my agent any further, Lieutenant. I still have need of him," Kothe reproached. "Did you complete your assignment, Legate?"

"Mission accomplished," Soren reported, ignoring the pain in his throbbing head. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Haha, no. You haven't."

"As if I had a choice..." Soren added.

That was unnecessary. He shouldn't have said that. The words had come out without his permission and he cursed himself for losing control under pressure. He was just so worn and tired, the glib remark had slipped through the cracks. 

Kothe's casual smile faded away, replaced by an air of suspicion and distrust.  
"Alright, fun's over. Keyword: Onomatophobia." 

Soren froze, his body numbed over as the familiar sting of the mind-control flooded his brain. His breathing slowed and his eyes grew unfocused. He was too weak to even attempt fighting it.

"You will not harm any member of Havoc Squad," Kothe ordered him.

The words diffused into his neural receptors and the Castellan restraints accepted his command, eliciting a physical confirmation.

"I will not harm any member of Havoc Squad," Soren heard himself say, incapable of effecting his own free will.

Everyn Brask watched in confusion as the Agent lost all sense of self. The neutral expression he thought was already devoid of emotion, suddenly grew vacant and his burning red eyes gazed out into the distance, empty. 

"You will not speak of your encounter with Havoc Squad, to anyone," Kothe dictated.

"I will not speak of my encounter with Havoc Squad to anyone," the Agent repeated mechanically. He was incredibly still, barely even breathing.

Did Jedi mind tricks work over holo? Everyn glanced over at Dorne who knew a lot more about medicine and alien physiology than he did but her reaction wasn't reassuring. In fact, her face was aghast, her mouth open and eyes wide. Horrified. 

What was going on?

"You will return to your ship and contact me as soon as you are able," Kothe commanded. 

"I will return to my ship and contact you," the Chiss answered absently.

"Good," Kothe turned to Everyn, "Captain Brask, I've spoken to General Garza. You are not to discuss this meeting or anything you've witnessed regarding codename: Legate with anyone. Is that understood?" 

"Uh. Yes, sir," Everyn replied incredulously. Did he have the authority to give him orders?

"That goes for the rest of Havoc Squad," Kothe turned to look at them, "No one knows or has ever seen this man. Is that understood?"

The soldiers were silently stunned for a moment but recognized a direct order and each yessired in turn.

"You will release Codename: Legate on Nar Shaddaa. That is all," Kothe concluded and ended the transmission.

Silence hung in the air as the holo-terminal powered down. Everyn turned to look at the Agent still down on his knees, empty, devoid of life.

"This is bantha fodder!" Jorgan interrupted everyone's thoughts. "He's a serial killer and we're supposed to just let him go?!"

Sergeant Dorne dropped to her knees beside the Agent, smacking her blaster against the floor. She grabbed his shoulder and examined his eyes.

"Legate! Legate, can you hear me?" she shook him, trying to elicit a response.

"What are you doing, Dorne?!" Everyn asked brazenly.

"He's been brainwashed!" she cried. "I've seen this before, it's mind-control. I can't believe the Republic would..." 

Soren felt the physical urge to stand, to leave, to make for his ship as soon as possible. He rose to his feet quickly, ignoring the Sergeant and turned to go but she stopped him, grabbing his hand and holding it back.

He couldn't hurt her, couldn't tear his hand away.

"I have to go," he said abruptly, his firey red eyes burrowing into hers.

"No, you can't. You're injured, you'll hurt yourself," she debated, clutching onto his arm.

Dorne had seen the effects of mind-control first hand. The Imperials were not above altering an enemy's neural chemistry to extract military secrets but it didn't stop there. The initial experiments had been conducted on willing volunteers but soon expanded into the Imperial military. 

Dorne remembered being called in to retrieve an injured trooper from the front lines on Sullust. She managed to wade through the bog of floating corpses to find the trooper crawling through the mud, determined to continue fighting the enemy, despite the loss of his leg.

Using all the kolto and medigel she had, Dorne managed to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound but when she tried to support him so he could stand and turn to leave, the trooper refused. He stubbornly broke away and hopped on one leg towards enemy lines, laying down suppressive fire.

Elara screamed for him to stop, to turn back but it was too late. The enemy had spotted him and wasted no time in shooting him down. As she ran, dodging enemy fire and collapsed at his side, she heard his last words: "I have to go... I have to fight..."

And he wasn't alone. Dorne spent the next three weeks treating injuries more grave and serious than any battlefield wounds she had ever seen. But it was not the brutality of the Republic infantry that was causing the number of casualties to skyrocket, it was a form of mind-control which inhibited the Imperials' senses. They were ordered to fight and they did, with no thought for their own physical well-being. 

One day, Elara accidentally walked in on one of the scientists secretly administering the Castellan Restraints to a trooper and after voicing her concerns she was subsequently transfered off-world. Within a few months, she defected to the Republic, unable to stand for the abuse and corruption of power within the Imperial hierarchy.

"Please, just..." Dorne begged him, gripping his arm tightly, "Kothe said you should go as soon as you are able, right? But you're injured, you can barely walk. Please..." 

_"She cares for you,"_ Soren heard the directionless voice of Watcher X in his mind. _"She knows what they did to you. Maybe she can help..."_

He considered her words for a moment, his true mind dancing around the all-encompassing physical need to leave the ship, trying to reason with the Castellan Restraints.

Finally, with an abject twitch of the head, he managed to say, "I need my things. I can't leave without them."

Dorne's face brightened and she loosened the grip on his arm. 

"Of course, I have them over here. Come with me," she said, leading him towards the medical bay.

"You're gonna give him weapons?! Dorne, are you out of your mind?!" Jorgan shouted.

"What are you doing?" Everyn asked again. "What are you thinking? He could kill us all."

"No, he wouldn't," Elara argued.

"She's right," Soren spoke, finally able to use his own mind again. 

"I can't..." He reached into the waistband of his trousers and pulled out the Kolto dart gun he had taken from her abandoned med-kit and re-fashioned into a working pistol.

"I can't hurt you," he said, handing it back to her as she recognized her weapon.

"See?" she said, looking from Jorgan to Brask, trying to convince them of his innocence.

"Weeell, I'm gonna go search the supply closet for more hidden weapons," Vik chattered. "You kids have fun on your honeymoon," he said as he walked off, leaving Everyn and Jorgan to stare incredulously at the Sergeant and her brain-washed Chiss friend.

"I say we should arm the enemy if it is to be a fair fight. For the Republic!" M1-4X exclaimed, brandishing its many cannons.

"Woah, woah, woah! Not on the ship, M1!" Everyn said throwing up his arms in front of the droid to stop him. "Stand down!"

Jorgan hadn't taken his blaster off Soren's head. Unsurprisingly, the Cathar still didn't trust him in the slightest, mind-control or no.

"Perhaps you should contact General Garza before you take my head off, Lieutenant," Soren spoke calmly, his bright red eyes shining with cunning. "Wouldn't want to put a blemish on that spotless record..."

There it was again, he shouldn't have said that but the concussion and mind-control were messing with his head, his inhibitions were loosened and his toxic thoughts were leaking out through his mouth.

The Cathar didn't appreciate his tone and took the opportunity to pistol whip him again.

"Lieutenant!" Dorne scolded, catching Soren as he fell backward.

"Give him his things and get him out of here!" he growled. "I don't want to see him ever again." 

Everyn turned back in time to see Jorgan storm off angrily towards weapons storage, where he would passive aggressively clean all the rifles until they were just as spotless as when he started. 

Jorgan sometimes forgot he wasn't in charge anymore, giving orders as though he were the leader of Havoc. Everyn didn't blame him. What happened on Ord Mantell wasn't fair. It wasn't his fault the old Havoc Squad defected to the Empire, it wasn't fair that they blamed it all on Jorgan but that was the reality. He was Everyn's subordinate now but he didn't do a very good job of hiding his displeasure, often showing it through brutality towards Imperials, the only ones he could righteously shoot.

"I'll go talk to him," Everyn sighed. "Get this guy out of here as soon as possible," he relayed to Dorne as she helped Soren back to his feet.

"Yes, sir," Elara responded. She nodded and guided the Chiss inside the med-bay while Everyn went to deal with his disgruntled Lieutenant.


	5. Saving Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergeant Dorne takes charge of the prisoner and leads him into the medical bay to return his things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Sergeant Elara Dorne is the medical officer for Havoc Squad. Human.  
> Lieutenant Aric Jorgan is second in command. Cathar.  
> Specialist Tanno Vik is the Havoc Squad's demolitions expert. Weequay.  
> M1-4X is a one-of-a-kind combat droid powered by a unique power core and developed especially for Havoc Squad.  
> Captain Everyn Brask is the leader of Havoc Squad. Human/cyborg.  
> Ardun Kothe is head of his own personal division with the SIS.

"I'm sorry about that. Please, sit," she apologized to Soren and gestured towards one of the beds. "Lieutenant Jorgan is very distrusting of Imperials."

"I don't blame him," he replied darkly, sitting down on the edge of the cot.

Dorne pursed her lips together guiltily. "I... I have my own misgivings about the Empire..." she began to say, "It's why I defected to the Republic but..." she trailed off.

"They're still people," Soren finished for her.

"Yes." Elara looked into his firey red eyes, oddly calm and quiet. 

"Oh dear, you've bled through the bandages!" she exclaimed in surprise, rushing over to inspect her handiwork. "I thought I'd adequately sealed the puncture wounds..."

"That would be my doing," he said, examining himself. "I took one of the stims in your med-kit after you left, it must have increased my blood pressure. Nothing to worry about." He closed up his shirt and began buttoning it but Elara stopped him.

"It most certainly is something to worry about, you've fractured three ribs. They were sticking out of your torso when we found you!" she scolded. "I'm going to need to reset them and reapply the bandages."

"That's really not necessary. I have a medic on my ship. Just give me my things so I can leave," he pressed. Elara thought she saw the faintest glimmer of annoyance in his expressionless face but that wasn't going to stop her.

"So you can bleed all the way through the spaceport? I don't think so. Now take off that shirt," Dorne ordered him.

The Chiss shot her a dangerous look, a flash of anger perhaps but it was barely a millisecond before it faded. He sighed, tentatively removing the torn, blood-stained fabric.

Elara donned a pair of bacta-gloves and used medical scissors to cut through the soaking bandages. Just as she suspected, their little skirmish in the supply closet had pushed his ribs out through his sapphire skin. The dark red flesh beneath was plainly visible as she pushed the bones back into place. The Chiss remained silent and still as she glued the shattered pieces back together.

"You barely flinched..." she commented, accustomed to Everyn's constant fussing and moaning when she patched him up. "How many stims did you take?"

"One."

Elara raised an eyebrow. 

"Just one?" she looked up at him skeptically but his expression remained neutral, his bright red eyes following her every movement. She blushed and looked down at his chest.

"I'm afraid I don't know all that much about Chiss biology..." she said, injecting a kolto solution into the damaged organs beneath his ribs. "You seem practically human on the inside."

"Metabolism is higher. Core body temperature is lower," he said, inhaling sharply as she pushed her fingers inside his ribcage. "A few organs are in different places. The neural wiring is a bit more complex but the only real difference is the eyes." 

"Really? What about your skin? The pigment is so... blue," she said awkwardly.

"It does better in cooler temperatures than a Human's," he replied, "But structurally, there's little difference."

"Hmmm, interesting," she said, digesting his words. She removed her fingers and filled the puncture wounds with medi-gel, wiping away the dried blood from his chest. When it was clean, she painted over the area with anti-septic.

"Arms up," she ordered, pulling out a roll of gauze.

He closed his eyes and raised his arms slowly. His hands were trembling. Dorne recognized how much pain he was in but giving him any dampeners after he'd injected himself with a battle-stimulant could have an adverse effect, especially in his condition. She placed a sheet of plasto against his ribs to keep them in place and began winding the bandage around his torso.

"Almost done," she reassured him as he lowered his head, grimacing. His dark blue hair fell down into his face but not a sound escaped his mouth as she threaded the bandage through the already accumulated dressings and tied a knot. 

"There," she said, looking up from her work. "You can relax now."

The Chiss lowered his arms and brushed back his hair. Elara could see faint traces of silver peppering the dark blue strands as she packed up her equipment.

"Huh, even your hair greys like a Human's..." she elucidated. "But I suppose the Empire would still consider you an alien. That's what's so great about the Republic..." 

"What?" he asked suddenly.

"I mean despite all your similarities to Humans, the Empire would still treat you as an outsider while the Republic..." she explained.

"No, about my hair..." he seemed troubled.

"Oh. You're getting some grey hairs coming in here," she said pointing a bloody bacta-glove just above his forehead.

Soren bristled, his eyes wide. "Are you sure?"

"Well, yes," she replied, "You haven't noticed?"

"Do you have a mirror?"

"Oh. Uh, yes..." she stumbled off her hoverstool. 

"Just a second," she said, removing her bacta-gloves and walking over to a chest of drawers. 

"Here," she returned with a small, round reflectoid shield.

Soren grabbed it a little too fervently and brought it up to his face. 

He looked awful. 

His once blue skin was now almost entirely black from bruises. One of his eyes was swollen and his cheek cut open and held together with medi-gel. The wounds didn't concern him though, they would heal with time but his hair...

Growing up in the Ascendancy, Soren had never seen a grey Chiss. They were supposed to retain their natural hair colour well into old age but the silver which had woven its way through his head was unmistakable.

 _"The serum is taking effect,"_ he heard the bodyless whisper of Watcher X in his mind. _"It's bleaching your brain, rewriting the conditioning. Soon, you will be free... or dead..."_

Soren shook his head, dispelling the sound. 

"Are you alright?" Dorne asked worriedly. "It's perfectly natural for hair to begin greying in your mid-thirties," she reassured him.

Soren looked up at her gravely. "Not for a Chiss," he said, passing back the mirror.

"Oh..." Elara replied. "You think it has something to do with the... "

"Mind control?" Soren finished for her. "Maybe..."

 _"She knows... she knows..."_ Watcher X whispered from the ether.

"I don't suppose you know how to remove Castellan Restraints?" he asked carefully.

Dorne shook her head, turning away to avoid his burning stare.

"I'm afraid, it's irreversible," she murmured, putting her tools into a sterilization pod.

 _"Figures,"_ Soren mentally smirked. The only solution he had come up with was to dose himself with IX serum to re-write the conditioning but it hadn't worked. 

He still couldn't resist the keyword and now his hair was slowing turning grey. He didn't want to think about what was happening inside his head but the thought of brain damage loomed over him like a dark cloud.

"Here are your things," Dorne said, lifting a crate full of his equipment onto the bed opposite.

Soren snapped out of his dark thoughts and stood up to inspect his personal effects. It was all there. His military jacket, his sniper rifle, blasters, bandolier, holsters, knives, probes, detonators, slicing tools. 

Elara looked at him sheepishly as he pulled out a protective vest and slid it on top of the bandages she had just dressed. Next came a holster which he strapped on over the vest. She couldn't imagine how he carried all of it on him when she could barely lift the crate off the ground.

He tightened the straps and hefted a folded electroblade out of the crate and into the holster slot on his back. Several blasters found similar homes in the cradles of the straps and he pulled them down tight.

"You're certainly very well-equipped," Dorne noted as he slipped on his shirt, buttoning it up as though it were still crisp and uncovered in bloodstains. 

"Not well enough, it seems," he replied, threading his arms through the black armorweave sleeves of the officer's military jacket.

"You still work for the Empire, don't you? Undercover, I mean..." she was struggling to find words.

"Yes, it's the only way the Republic will accept my defection. I work for them until it becomes clear where my loyalties lie..." he explained, slipping several vibroknives into the hidden recesses of his jacket. "...or I die."

Elara frowned. "Surely it won't come to that."

"Nothing is assured, Sergeant. Only death," he said casually, sneaking a set of slicing tools into a hidden breast pocket.

"Do you regret defecting?" she asked suddenly.

Soren stopped to look at her. She'd been itching to ask him something all this time. It was the reason she'd latched on to his hand instead of letting him go back to the ship. He considered manipulating her pity and impressionable mindset into rejoining the Empire, the use of mind control had obviously shaken her trust in the Republic. But whether it was the concussion, the stims or the pain talking, Soren let loose a sliver of truth.

"Honestly, if I had a choice, I would run," he said. "Far from the Republic and the Empire. There will be no winners in this war. Only casualties." 

"But the Republic..."

"The Republic does whatever is necessary to fight the Empire, including tolerate traitors like you and me," Soren interrupted her. "They don't trust us and they never will." He zipped up his jacket and attached his utility belt.

"You're wrong!" she replied angrily "The Republic stands for decency and respect for all species. Equality. Fairness."

"Mind control?" he suggested, passing the bandolier over his shoulder and across his chest. 

Elara fell silent. It's all she had been thinking of since Ardun Kothe's transmission. She had abandoned the Empire, her family, everything she had ever known only to join the side that was just as capable of cruelty and abject disregard for life. It wasn't fair.

"Your idealism might be clouding your judgement, Sergeant," he said, reading her thought process.

Soren picked up his sniper rifle, inspecting it briefly before passing it over his shoulder and letting it click into the magnetic holster on his back. He winced at the pain in his ribs and took a long ragged breath to steady himself. 

"Ow." he finally said.

"Don't strain yourself. You need at least a week in the Kolto tank to completely heal those injuries," Dorne scolded him.

Soren scoffed and gave her a genuine smile. It was the first she'd ever seen from him and even his bruises couldn't detract from his handsome face. She felt herself relax a little, and smiled back. Then she remembered.

"Oh, your holocommunicator," she said, pulling it out from her utility belt. "You'll need this."

Soren took it and felt the sting of the Castellan Restraints flooding his mind again.

"I have to go..." he breathed.

And was gone.


	6. Wretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaliyo returns to the ship after a long night of drinking on Nar Shaddaa...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Kaliyo is a Rattataki anarchist who teamed up with Soren on Hutta after discovering his allegiance to the Empire  
> Doctor Lokin is a retired Imperial scientist who's spending his twilight years conducting questionable experiments, using the Agent's constant movement throughout the galaxy as protection.

Kaliyo was grateful for the dark interior of the X-70B Phantom as she traipsed through the airlock. One could not simply avoid the flashing neon lights of Nar Shaddaa that were endlessly trying to sell you something and the brightness did not sit well with her Rancor of a hangover. 

It was late. Really late. But the cantinas never closed on the smuggler's moon, willingly catering to the galaxy's alcoholics, criminal or no. 

Kaliyo had been knocking back everything she could find and reasonably afford, stooping to innappropriate flirting when her bar tab maxed out. The result had left her piss poor and piss drunk, throwing up her guts in some dank alley in Network Access. She hadn't even wondered where the Agent went.

Kaliyo didn't know his name, never even asked. He was given fancy codenames like Cipher 9 and Legate but she just called him Agent or Blue and he never complained. 

The man was an enigma to her. He had the skill to be one of the galaxy's top assassins or mercenaries (Kaliyo would know) but instead he stuck to the Empire like a Twi'lek to a Hutt's backside. It had its advantages, she had to admit, like a steady paycheck and a degree of protection from the Imperials but it was a pittance compared to the credits he could be raking in.

She stopped to burp loudly and lean into the doorway, nursing her killer headache. The Agent wouldn't like that. He was the lightest sleeper she'd ever met and the slightest noise or tremor could wake him from a deep slumber but Kaliyo didn't care. She felt so rancid that she slid down the wall and dropped to the floor, waiting to throw up again. But he didn't come. Didn't darken the doorway or appear over her shoulder like he'd been watching her the whole time. He wasn't on the ship.

It was quiet. Real quiet. Lokin and the bug-man were probably asleep, even 2V-R8 had powered down and wouldn't wake up for a few more hours so she had time to kill. Time to sit there and be miserable.

For what it was worth, Kaliyo had brought this on herself. Sure, there were a few people with grudges and some ex-partners trying to track her down, but the decision to kill them before they killed her? All Kaliyo. She wanted nothing more than to close that chapter of her life, to move on and never let anything hold her back but when she asked the Agent for help, he refused.

 _"I'm an Imperial Intelligence officer, Kaliyo, not your personal assassin,"_ he'd said with a resigned expression.

Kaliyo didn't like being turned down. In fact, she was so used to getting her way that she automatically assumed he'd help her, especially after all they'd been through. But that was not the case. The Agent wasn't like any of her ex-partners. He wasn't a smuggler, a crooked arms dealer, a card shark, a mercenary, an anarchist or some drunken spice weasel that she'd bedded over a few too many drinks. Which meant she had to get clever.

And Kaliyo was definitely clever. It had been all too easy to convince Imperial Intelligence to issue death marks for every single one of her stalkers and the Agent had no choice but to help her find them, begrudgingly. 

All was going well. They hit up Rholl on Hutta and Yjal on Balmorra, leaving their cold-dead corpses to collect spacedust so fast she almost regretted not fighting them alone but then they came to Nar Shaddaa. Kaliyo's old beau with the deep pockets, Ta Tigal, was busy losing credits at the Star Cluster Casino when they confronted him. He wasn't the badass warrior type Kaliyo usually got with. He was just some rich boy whose father could replenish his credit account faster than he could spend it with his card-dealing tricks and that suited Kaliyo just fine. 

Until she got bored and left.

Ta Tigal hadn't been searching for Kaliyo for revenge or to settle old scores. He loved her and he wanted her back, regardless of how horribly she'd treated him. He didn't even have any security guards for them to beat up.

 _"Walk away Kaliyo, this man isn't worth your time,"_ the Agent had said. _"And he certainly isn't worth mine."_

And then he was gone. 

Kaliyo was left alone with the love-struck Zabrak, unable to shoot the pathetic waste of space. She rattled off the most impressive number of curse words ever strung together and threatened to kill him if he ever came near her again before the casino guards threw her out for the disturbance.

She hated casinos. She hated Ta Tigal and she hated the Agent. Her fury quickly devolved into a cantina crawl that spanned the entire Promenade and trailed off into Network Access after a Devaronian offered to buy her a drink for some yum yum. 

But now she was coming down from her rage-filled cantina bender and the painful clarity of the morning was slowly settling in. She didn't really hate them. Rholl. Yjal. Ta Tigal. The Agent. They were only telling her things she didn't want to hear and Kaliyo had spent her life shooting people like that in the face.

But something had changed. She let Ta live. The old Kaliyo would have splattered his brains against his favourite sabacc table without a second thought. Something was different and she couldn't help but wonder if the Agent had something to do with it.

She should probably call him. See where he went. Ask if he needed help. Or at the very least, drunk-dial the Chiss in the middle of a very important mission just to annoy him. Kaliyo cackled quietly as she pulled a holocommunicator out of her pocket. This was gonna be fun. 

She selected his holofrequency and tapped a button to initiate the call and waited for him to pick up. A wicked smile played on her face as she imagined him sneaking through an enemy stronghold only to have his cover blown by a ringing holocom. It had been her favourite joke to play on the anarchists on Brentaal IV but then she remembered the Agent always silenced his holocom before a mission. 

"Hmmm, no fun," she grumbled as the call remained unanswered.

Then she realized there was a strange sound drifting down the corridor. A low buzzing that was incredibly irritating to her sensitive hungover ears. She put down the holocom and shifted lazily to stare down the hallway which led to the main deck. And then she retched in surprise.

Wiping her mouth, Kaliyo staggered to her feet and rushed towards the holoterminal in the center of the main deck where the Agent had collapsed. She slipped on a trail of blood that led to his body and skidded to the floor, landing with an unceremonious thud beside him.

"Agent. Agent!" Kaliyo crowed, shaking his shoulder but there was no response.

She flipped him over, soaking her hands with the blood seeping through his jacket. His face was entirely black and his eyes were swollen shut, he looked like he just crawled out of the rubble of the Endar Spire. Kaliyo checked his pulse but there was so much blood, her fingers kept slipping.

"DOC!" she yelled, loud enough to wake the entire ship.

But Lokin didn't respond quickly enough so she sent a massive howl of curse words echoing down the corridor which promptly summoned the old man from his sleeping quarters.

"What in the-" he began to say but cut off when he saw the Agent's body. His eyes widened but he didn't flinch.

Carefully tip-toeing over the pool of blood, Lokin managed to squat down by his head and check his pulse and breathing. Light, but detectable.

"Grab his legs," he said to Kaliyo, "get him into the medical bay."


	7. Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyn Brask confronts Sergeant Elara Dorne to discuss the day's events...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Sergeant Elara Dorne is the medical officer for Havoc Squad. Human.  
> Captain Everyn Brask is the leader of Havoc Squad. Human/cyborg.  
> Ardun Kothe is head of his own personal division with the SIS.

Elara sat down miserably in the Thunderclap's empty supply closet. She had come to collect her forgotten medkit and ended up staring at the blood stains on the wall for so long she had lost track of time. 

He was gone. The Agent. Cipher 9. Codename: Legate. Whatever his name was. 

The Chiss was gone. And he had taken something with him.

Was it hope? Or faith? Or her will to continue fighting?

She wasn't sure but the emptiness was overwhelming.

He was right. The Republic didn't trust her, didn't even try to hide it. Whenever the Empire did something questionable, Elara was the first person they would call to interrogate. Colonel Gaff made no effort to hide his suspicions, ending every transmission with the same, _"Is there anything else you want to tell me?"_

Elara had put up with it, endured it. Quietly telling herself that they were right to be doubtful and distrustful. An Imperial field medic who had conveniently decided to switch sides with no ulterior motive? She would have her misgivings too. 

But it had been three years since she defected. She worked so hard to prove herself, memorized every rule and regulation of the Galactic Code, tirelessly led rescue missions into the field to save hundreds of Republic troops, again and again...

But every time she opened her mouth and that Imperial accent came fluttering out, she could see the respect and kindness in their eyes fading away, replaced with the bile of hatred and distrust. It was never going to change.

She sighed. Elara had found the Republic's suspicions incredibly taxing but it was nothing compared to what they'd done to the Agent. She didn't know how they got their hands on secret Imperial bio-chemicals but the result was identical to what she had seen on Sullust. 

When Dorne learned that the Sith Lord Baras had personally approved testing IX serum on Imperial troopers, she loudly voiced her opinions to her superiors. But her words fell on deaf ears and she was quickly transferred offworld. She became disillusioned by the leadership of the Sith, who claimed to be acting in the best interests of the Empire while simultaneously stabbing its soldiers in the back, with toxic brain washing chemicals.

Had she really just traded in one corrupt power structure for another? Democracy was the founding principle of the Republic but Dorne had witnessed just how easily the process became subverted. Beauracrats with credits lining their pockets sat in the fancy Senate building on Coruscant, debating over issues of wealth while Republic soldiers were dying on the front lines for their petty squabbles. They would gladly send troops to protect a rich mining colony in the Outer Rim but if there was no profit involved, they would be hard-pressed to send even a single man to Alderaan.

Elara crossed her arms over her knees and buried her head. There was only so much worrying she could do before the tears came streaming down her face.

 _"What have I done?"_ she whispered.

It stood to reason that Everyn Brask chose this exact moment to darken the doorway of the supply closet to find Elara weeping quietly in a corner.

His verbal sparring match with Jorgan had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he wanted to get all the awkward conversations out of the way before days end so he could take a long, cold shower. He had expected to find Dorne, organizing and re-organizing the med-bay as was her usual occupation but it was surprisingly empty. After checking her bunk in the sleeping quarters and finding it unoccupied, he scratched his head, wondering where she could have possibly gone.

"If you're lookin' for Dorne, she's in the closet nursin' a broken heart," Vik joked as he walked by, prompting Everyn to go looking for her.

He wasn't happy about Dorne's behaviour. She should never have interferred with the prisoner. What made it all the more worrying was Dorne's usually strict and disciplined personality. This was incredibly out of character for her and Everyn was genuinely worried.

"Sergeant?" he said a little too officially. His drill voice was still on.

Elara suddenly looked up at him from where she sat. She sniffed away her tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she stood up to attention.

"Yes, sir," she said through the lump in her throat. 

Everyn could see her eyes were red and puffy from crying. He realized this probably wasn't the best time to have the conversation he envisioned and awkwardly rubbed the back of his head as they both tried to avoid eye-contact.

"Are you alright?" he asked finally.

"Yes, I'm... I'm fine, sir," she sniffed again, collecting herself. "I would like to apologize for my actions today. It was incredibly innappropriate, not to mention the violation of Code 97-C/B and-"

"Dorne," Everyn interrupted. "I know what you saw today wasn't the best side of the Republic. Dealing with the SIS can be really shady sometimes and I'm sure you know what Imperial Intelligence is capable of better than I do. But I want you to know that I would never approve of anything like that."

Dorne looked up at him with trepidation but then her gaze softened.

"I know," she said. "Sir."

"You were right..." he sighed. "We're just soldiers. We follow orders. We're not all that different. And there's nothing I'd like better than to punch Ardun Kothe in the face right now but you understand why I can't..."

Dorne nodded and looked down at her feet. She imagined Everyn clocking Kothe square in mouth with one of his huge fists and the thought lifted her spirits a little.

"What he did to that Agent was wrong and I promise you that as long as I lead Havoc Squad, I will never cross that line," he said.

Dorne slowly brightened. She still had her doubts. About the Empire, about the Republic but she had no doubts about Everyn Brask. She smiled up at him.

"Thank-you, sir," she said.

Everyn smiled back. He felt heat creeping into his cheeks as he blushed softly and awkwardly saluted the Sergeant before turning to leave.

"Captain..." Dorne began to say.

Brask whisked back towards her. "Yes?"

Dorne opened her mouth to speak but reconsidered.

"... Nothing, sir. "


	8. Convalescing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren wakes up on the Phantom after a rough patch on Nar Shaddaa...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.  
> Kaliyo is a Rattataki anarchist who teamed up with Soren on Hutta after discovering his allegiance to the Empire  
> Doctor Lokin is a retired Imperial scientist who's spending his twilight years conducting questionable experiments, using the Agent's constant movement throughout the galaxy as protection.

Soren awoke drifting in the viscous solution of the kolto tank. His eyes stung as the semi-transparent blue liquid rushed in to burn the schleral membrane of his ocular receptors. He squinted through the pain and took a laboured breath into the oxygen mask attached to his face, reflexively reaching a hand up to feel the transparisteel of his cylindrical prison.

How long had he been in here? 

Kolto was as incredibly expensive as it was effective in healing wounds. Consuming enough to fill up a kolto tank was reserved only for the most grave and serious of injuries. Surely, this was overkill. He just had a few broken ribs. This was a grandious waste of resources.

He felt the water level lower as the kolto began to drain into the grill at the bottom of the tank, tiny waves of the stuff sloshing against his head as it receded. He pulled his arms out of the supports and gently floated down to let his feet touch the floor.

He could partially see through the foggy transparisteel of the tank. A distorted face was peering at him from the other side. 

Lokin?

The last of the kolto solution drained away and Soren could hear the hiss of depressurization as the door to the kolto tank opened and rose up to reveal the medical bay of his own ship. 

The X-70B Phantom was a looker. The sleek starship may have seemed like a top-of-the-line luxury transport but under the silver plating it was a whole lot more. Through centuries of Imperial research and development, the Phantom was equipped with state of the art weaponry and stealth systems capable of disabling even a dreadnought single-handed, if piloted correctly. 

The hidden upgrades also extended to the medical facilities of the ship which rivalled even that of the Imperial Medical Center on Dromund Kaas. Doctor Lokin had quickly settled into the space, eager to continue his experiments, swiftly attuning to the compact yet versatile setting and providing Soren with some much needed medical attention when required.

It was indeed the bearded Doctor who handed him a towel as he stepped out of the Kolto tank. And he took it gratefully.

"Finally," Lokin said to him as he wiped the sterile goo off his face. "I was almost ready to inform the Minister of Intelligence that he should start looking for a new Cipher..." 

"It didn't seem that bad..." Soren muttered.

"You know I don't ask questions, Agent, but I really am curious to know how you ended up crushed, shot, stabbed and beaten up, all at once," Lokin said as he lowered the door to the kolto tank and snapped it shut, initiating the sterilization protocol.

"I don't remember getting stabbed..." Soren mumbled, brushing the sticky hair out of his face.

"Well, your body certainly will. Did you decide to fight all the criminals on Nar Shaddaa by yourself? Because I do believe that is a little above your skill set."

"There was a gang of Nikto..." he groaned, jogging his memory. "They weren't very friendly..." 

"I'm sure they weren't." Lokin shook his head. "Into the rinser with you, now." He took the towel from the battered Chiss and nudged him towards the cubicle in the corner. 

Soren stepped behind the frosted transparisteel shroud and leaned a hand against the wall to keep himself upright. His body was heavy and aching all over, his head throbbing with a migraine.

"Although, I fail to see how a gang of Nikto could have buried you under a building... or how you ended up back on the ship after they buried you..." Lokin mused to himself, activating the rinser. "I'm adding disinfectant to the mixture so don't swallow it. Keep your eyes closed."

A torrent of water jetted from the ceiling of the rinser and dowsed Soren's body in bright green liquid.

He let out a loud, almost reptillian hiss as it made contact with some of his open wounds, washing away the soothing Kolto solution.

"Hold still," Lokin fidgeted. "You're not fully healed but I wanted to assess the damage as soon as you regained consciousness."

"Tsss..." Soren breathed as the liquid ate into him, stinging his freshly knitted flesh.

"You gave young Kaliyo quite a fright, you know. She almost passed out when we carried you in here. Though it may have been from intoxication... She had a fatal level of alcohol in her blood-stream," Lokin fussed over the terminal that controlled the rinsing mechanism.

"Is she alright?" Soren asked weakly as the water pressure began to decrease.

"Oh, she'll be fine. I offered my assistance but she told me to- well, you can imagine. Said she's had far worse 'benders' and I'm rather inclined to believe her," Lokin handed him another towel as the rinser dripped to a stop.

Dabbing gently, Soren dried his face and the rest of his body, wincing as he touched some of the more tender parts around his ribcage.

"Let's have a look at you," Lokin said as he left the cubicle. 

He stood up and walked over to the lightly battered Chiss to examine his healing wounds. He circled around with his med-scanner, spreading his fingers over the blue skin of his patient, testing the elasticity of the closing cuts and feeling for irregularities over the broken bones. 

Soren flinched as he gently passed over his ribs. There were already three scabs crusting over the puncture wounds where they pierced through the skin but it still hurt. Lokin finished the examination with his eyes, flashing an ultraviolet light into the pupil-less orbs to check for abnormalities.

"You seem to be healing well, considering the level of trauma. No permanent damage as far as I can tell. Let's test your brain, shall we?" Lokin sat down on a tall hover-stool and pulled out a datapad to make some notes.

"Confidentially, I hope..." Soren muttered as he walked over to a wall-mounted locker.

"Of course. You know I'm a stickler for security." Lokin grinned as he tapped at his datapad. "What's your name?"

"Cipher 9," Soren replied as he pulled a silver cylinder out of the locker.

"And what's a Cipher?" Lokin continued.

"A Cipher Agent is an Intelligence operative employed by the Empire to discreetly handle sensitive matters on their behalf. Typical mission objectives include infiltration, espionage, seduction and assassination," Soren responded flatly, opening the pressurized can of clothing. He tipped it over and a rolled up set of garments slid into his outstretched palm.

"How would you describe yourself?" Lokin asked.

Soren thought about the question for a second and then replied, "I'm very good at my work."

"Hehe, I see your self-awareness is still intact. Let's try long term memory: Where were you born?" 

Soren shot him a wary side-glance as he threaded his legs into a pair of black trousers. 

"I'm not prying, it's on your Intelligence Profile," Lokin noted his apprehension.

"The Chiss Ascendancy," he answered.

"When did you join Imperial Intelligence?" 

"Almost six years ago."

"Who was your first Watcher?"

"Sixty-six."

"Alright then, let's try short-term memory. Who am I?"

"Doctor Eckard Lokin, noted xenobiologist also known as Fixer Fifteen, currently studying the effects of the Rakghoul virus on himself."

"Oh, you even remembered my designation," he chuckled. "Alright, why are we on Nar Shaddaa?"

Soren thought about his mission to Shadow Town as he slipped on the sweatshirt that had fallen out of the clothing cylinder. The Castellan Restraints flared in his brain and he knew he could not say the words even if he wanted to.

"I was helping Kaliyo with the Death Mark she put on her ex, Ta Tigal. A card-shark at the Star Cluster Casino," he said instead. It would be satisfactory for Lokin's test.

"Mission successful?" 

"Hardly. He started sobbing about how much he loved Kaliyo. I left her to mop up that mess on her own." Soren frowned, shaking the cylinder until two scrunched up pairs of shoes fell out.

"At which point you ran into a gang of Nikto who dropped a building on you?"

Soren gave him a hard look. The gang of Nikto had been loitering outside the Deucalon spaceport when he left the Thunderclap's docking bay. One of them thought to take advantage of his weakened state and steal his rifle, probably looking to make a quick mint on the black market. He was the first to have his throat slit. 

The memories blurred together after that, the adrenaline of battle quickening his mind and blending events together but he did manage to get back to the ship somehow. The last thing Soren remembered was contacting Ardun Kothe and then nothing. Of course, he couldn't tell Lokin about the SIS or Havoc Squad no matter how hard he tried. The Castellan Restraints would see to that but Lokin of all people should understand that there were some things he just couldn't tell him. 

Soren's facial expression seemed to suffice the Doctor because he shrugged and said, "Alright, I understand. _'Classified'_ ," he typed into the datapad. 

"Well, that's all I really need for my assessment. Your cognitive function seems to be intact. With a few more sessions in the kolto tank, you should make a full recovery," Lokin delivered the news happily. "Though I do urge you not to strain yourself while you're healing."

"How long?" Soren asked as he sat down on one of the medical beds.

"Best give it a week before you start doing somersaults," Lokin replied linking his fingers together under his datapad. "I must say I'm amazed at your rate of recovery. When we dragged you in here, I thought you'd die before I could unbuckle half your equipment. I never realized how resilient Chiss are..."

"It's not typical." Soren rubbed his right temple with his fingers trying to soothe his migraine.

"No? Oh, another medical question: How many sexual partners have you had in the last month?" Lokin asked.

"Mmm, five." Soren replied, quickly tallying his successful seduction attempts. "Maybe six. How long was I out?"

"You've been in the tank for a couple of days. You're going to need a vasectomy once we finish the treatment. I'm guessing you don't want any little Agents running around the galaxy," Lokin chuckled.

Soren frowned but he didn't say anything. 

"Alright, do you have any questions, any complaints of your own? I can only observe so much externally," Lokin said, raising up his palms.

Soren thought about his injuries, gauging the pain of each scrape and bruise and burn and fracture, ranking them to scale, but then he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the kolto tank. His eyes quickly travelled up above his face to his hair, where a few incredibly visible silver strands were settling in. He brushed it back with his hand out of habit, deep in thought.

"My hair..." he said. "It's greying."

"Hmmm? Is that all?" Lokin asked. "Well, according to your file, you're 37 years old, Agent. You may look a little younger but it's perfectly natural to have some grey hair start appearing, particularly with all the stress you're under. Why I remember when a certain Imperial Agent was promoted to Cipher during the War. His hair went grey within the month," he chuckled.

Soren looked down at his hands solemnly, wondering if he should say anything to Lokin about his true age. There was no reason to be worried, it was just a few grey hairs. Soren had lost a finger with much less distress. But when he looked up at his reflection in the Kolto tank again, his mind recoiled.

"I'm not 37 years old, Doctor," he said quietly.

"Oh? Lying to Imperial Intelligence about your age? Is that truly wise?" Lokin reproached.

"It's not that I lied..." Soren began. "They just didn't believe me."

"Well I don't believe that five years either way would have made much of a difference to an Imperial examiner..." Lokin reasoned.

"I'm eighteen, Lokin," he confessed.

The doctor looked at him oddly, raising an eyebrow as he re-examined his patient. Soren didn't look like a typical Human teenager. He resembled a man freshly into his thirties. Strong, muscular, adult.

"Chiss tend to develop quicker than Humans..." he tried to explain himself.

"Yes, I'd heard but..." Lokin rose from his chair and walked over to inspect him up close, "I didn't realize to what extent..."

Lokin began to poke and prod at Soren's face, opening his mouth and checking his ears, his eyes, the length of his arms. Everything seemed to gain a new dimension which he carefully examined with a scientific curiousity.

"You said you joined Intelligence close to six years ago? When you were thirteen?!" Lokin asked, fascinated. 

"They didn't believe me, wrote down thirty one on the profile instead. I never corrected them..." Soren admitted.

"I've seen your initial bio-scan..." Lokin's eyes brightened, he rushed over to the nearby terminal and typed something at the keypad. Within seconds, a small holo of a slightly younger Chiss appeared on top of the machine. "This is you at thirteen?!" he asked incredulously.

Soren nodded.

Lokin stared at the holo, enthralled by his new discovery. "When do Chiss typically reach maturity?" he asked.

"Around eleven or twelve," Soren estimated.

"And this isn't Chiss years you're talking about?" Lokin demanded.

"The Galactic Standard equivalent."

"Remarkable..." Lokin mused, crossing the room to examine Soren once again. His fingers reached into his hair and parted the midnight blue strands to reveal several silver infiltrators. "And grey hair is uncommon among Chiss?" he asked.

"I've never heard of it," Soren shook his head. "Hair doesn't really change colour once it starts growing."

"No possibility of baldness?" Lokin questioned, folding his arms.

"None that I'm aware of. I suppose I could shave it off but it would grow back pretty quickly..."

"Fascinating..." Lokin chortled "The galaxy never ceases to amaze." He stared at Soren in wonder.

"No-one can know about this," he said suddenly.

"Of course, of course. I'll make no record and my enquiries will be discreet. No one will even know it's me requisitioning Chiss bio-analysis reports," Lokin promised. 

He beamed down at Soren. "Eighteen..." he muttered. "That would make you the second youngest Cipher Agent ever. Though you've survived the job far longer than that other young man did. Not that two days is an exceptionally long record to beat..."

Soren could see Lokin was excited by this discovery but he had little interest in fanning his enthusiasm. He was tired, so incredibly tired and worn. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. If only this migraine would stop pounding away at his head.

**THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.**

_"That wasn't the migraine..."_

"OPEN THE DOOR! I KNOW HE'S AWAKE, DOC! I CAN HEAR YOU TALKING IN THERE!" Kaliyo screeched through the durasteel.

"I thought the med-bay was soundproof." Soren turned to the Doctor.

"It is. I play passive ambient conversations on the outside so she can feel like she's listening in," Lokin shrugged. "However, the walls don't seem to withstand Mistress Kaliyo's impressive decibel range..."

The Doctor moved to unlock the door and gave Soren a questionable look. He waved a hand in defeat and Lokin unbolted the door to allow the furious form of a Rattataki woman to come barging in. 

"Finally! You huk-faced slime-balls have been chatting away in here like it's Boonta Eve. Where is he?!" she sneered at the Doctor who cordially directed her gaze towards the Chiss on her left.

"You! What the hell were you thinking?!" she raised a hand to slap him but Soren caught it before it reached his face.

"Don't," he said sternly. When he was sure she wouldn't follow through, he loosened his grip on her pale, grey wrist.

"I would advise against violence, Mistress Kaliyo. The Agent is still recovering from his wounds..."

"Advise my ass, Doc," she hissed. 

"Very well. I would counsel your posterior to partake in supplementary training exercises as the fat deposits on your buttocks have become large enough to visibly sag."

"WHY YOU-"

"Doctor..." Soren interrupted. "If you would excuse us for a minute. I think this conversation may best be held in private."

Lokin shrugged. "Of course, Agent. Take your time." He made for the door.

"And do attempt to restrain your primal urge to smash anything," he told Kaliyo passively, "The Agent still needs treatment."

Kaliyo fumed as he left the medical bay and shut the door behind him. Her rage was as palpable as ever. But Soren found it oddly refreshing. He could never allow himself to express his emotions so flagrantly.

"You're upset," he noted.

"Of course, I'm upset you kark-headed Murglak wiper!" she roared in his face. "I found you taking a nap in a pool of your own blood!"

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Soren apologised calmly.

"You'd better be sorry! You leave me hanging at the casino, you go off on your own to do... whatever, and you end up painting the hallway red with your insides and for what?!" Kaliyo threw up her hands.

"You know I can't tell you that," Soren replied, stone-faced.

"Urgh, the one time I leave you alone... and you...you..." She made a gesture as though she were crushing his head between her fingers.

"Your concern is touching, Kaliyo, but I don't need a chaperone. I was just taken by surprise. It won't happen again..." Soren promised.

"It better not!" she snarled, hands on her hips.

"Why do you care all of a sudden?" he asked, rubbing the strain from the back of his neck. "From what I've seen so far, I'm just a pit-stop for you on a long road of disappointments. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't walk out when you found me."

"I told you, I need Intelligence to get my ex-partners off my back." She crossed her arms.

Soren raised an eyebrow at her. She didn't need Imperial Intelligence. Kaliyo could have mopped up every one of her old friends on her own. She didn't even need Soren. It was a mystery as to why she had stuck around this long. Perhaps she was leaking information to someone? He would need to perform a discrete investigation. Maybe he'd ask Lokin to do it since he was always snooping around anyway.

Kaliyo seemed to have run out of steam. The anger turned into a cold silence as she tried to think of more bereavements but there seemed to be none left. She pouted her big black lips and sighed.

"Just... be more careful, alright?" 

"I will Kaliyo, thank-you," Soren said, standing up. "Is that all?"

She looked up at him sheepishly. His eyes were a faded crimson, missing their usual glow. She could see how tired he was, despite all that time in the kolto tank. The Doc was right, he needed more treatment. Her petty thoughts could wait.

"Yeah, that's all..." she said, waving a hand.

Kaliyo watched him leave. There was a downtrodden stoop to his shoulders, starkly contrasting his usually perfect posture. 

_"Weight of the world,"_ she thought to herself. 

_"There's no room for feelings in that man... not mine at least."_


	9. Disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren begins to recover from his wounds but realizes they may be aggravating in more ways than one...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic takes place after Quesh in the Imperial Agent's storyline.  
> Agent Soren Talfiss/Cipher 9/Legate is a Chiss Imperial Agent who has defected to the Republic's Strategic Information Service.

Soren did not dream. 

Ever.

Once he fell asleep, everything was darkness, while some small part of him waited, listened, for intrusions from the real world. It wasn't peaceful but it was familiar. His subconscious continued mulling through the day's events and sometimes he even woke himself with discoveries and new ideas. The downside was that he could never truly relax. The tension kept building and nothing short of a bantha tranquilizer could knock him out completely.

The pain in his body had kept him awake for hours before he finally drifted away into nothingness. His mind began tentatively flipping through memories in no particular order, pulling up faces, phrases, places he recalled with pinpoint accuracy. There was little he could forget, even from an early age, Soren's memory was flawless, eidetic. His father had told him it was a common trait in their family but when he tried to remember the exact moment he'd said it, his mind faultered.

Soren couldn't remember what day it had been. Where he had been. What he'd been wearing. Even his father's face seemed to blur and he wondered if that moment had ever truly existed. Had he just made it all up? Convinced himself that it was real? No, that couldn't be. Did he really just forget what his father looked like?

His mind recoiled at idea. Perhaps it was fatigue? Given sufficient rest his brain would recover and the memory would become clear again. He just needed sleep.

He willed himself deeper into the darkness, hoping it would cloud his restless brain but there was no escaping the accumulating fear that something was wrong. Very wrong. 

_"... a body is nothing without the intellect to guide it, Soren ..."_ his mother's voice sounded distantly _"... your mind is your greatest asset ..."_

He reached for the whisper, trying to picture her face as she said the words but he couldn't. He must have been at home when she told him that but the room he imagined was murky and unremarkable at best. Her shadow by the window was all he could muster from the depths of his memory and then, she was gone.

Soren flinched and started awake. 

He was still in bed, the lights were out but his eyes had no trouble making out every detail of his personal quarters aboard the Phantom. They flitted over to the soft holo displaying the time on his desk. Inconsequential. He needed more sleep but the jarring realization that he was beginning to forget his own parents was indiscriminately horrifying.

Was it the serum affecting his brain? Was the unending migraine a side-affect of his memories being erased? Was he slowly going to lose every part of himself until there was nothing left but an obedient slave?

"Soren..." a voice emanated from the shadows.

He bristled and tried to sit up.

A woman emerged from the darkness, her beautiful blue face framed with long black curls, her eyes, scarlet and sparkling. She was wearing a Chiss military uniform, the black suit hugging her curves despite the brutal cut of its armorweave. 

"Raya?" Soren murmured, wide-eyed.

She smiled and approached him slowly, hips swaying as she walked.

"Y-you can't be here..." he whispered.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch his hand, linking her supple fingers into his blackened knuckles. Soren held his breath as she leaned in and brushed her cheek against his face.

"I missed you, ros'chah," she whispered in his ear.

He breathed in the sweet smell of her hair as she leaned on his chest and they sank down onto the bed. He cherished her touch, the feel of her skin in his hand, against his face.

 _"She's dead, Soren. You need to accept it,"_ he heard the stern voice of his Overseer echo in his mind. _"She killed herself, she's not coming back..."_

"No," he heard himself say. "No, I know she's alive."

_"The Ascendancy has no need for operatives who cannot distinguish between reality and fantasy. Either you accept it or you leave."_

"She's not dead, I'm telling you. She's right here," Soren argued with the bodyless voice.

 _"You were such a promising candidate..."_ the Overseer sighed.

Soren looked down to see Raya gazing up at him, her scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness. 

"He wants to take you away from me," she said sadly, "He doesn't want us to be together..." reaching to caress his cheek with her hand.

"I won't let him..." she whispered and pulled out the knife Soren kept hidden under his pillow.

His eyes widened again as she lifted the blade high above his head.

"We'll be together forever..." she smiled and brought the knife down.

Soren caught her hands in the nick of time and held them up as she pushed down with all her weight.

"Pathetic," Hunter scoffed somewhere to his left. "What kind of weak-ass punk gets snagged by a droid?"

"The kind that's easy to manipulate," Ardun Kothe reasoned beside him. "Look at him struggle."

Soren felt his hand faltering. He was weak, he couldn't hold it. The blade was coming down. 

"You're not real," he said to himself. "You're not here."

Raya's scarlet eyes flashed with surprise as her hands passed through his grip and ghosted through his body. Her form shimmered and faded as he realized it was nothing more than a hallucination.

"Don't forget me..." she whispered as she faded away.

"Never," Soren promised as he drank in the last of her image with his eyes, longing for her to return but she didn't.

He sat silently watching the space where she had been sitting. He could still remember her clearly. There were no gaps in his memory as far as she was concerned. Soren shuddered to think that Raya could be the next person to disappear from his life. 

"The serum is a lot more potent than I thought..." Watcher X mused as he strolled past the end of his bed. "Or perhaps the effects are more vivid with each subsequent dose..."

"You said it would work, " Soren hissed at him.

"I said it _could_ work," he corrected. "You knew the risks when you took it. There was a 46% chance that it would melt your neural receptors after the initial injection but look at you now. Still alive and kicking," he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"What good will being alive do me if I don't remember who I am?" Soren demanded.

"That is the real question, isn't it? Will the serum set you free, or will it break you?" Watcher X considered. "I suppose you could write a memoir... just in case."

Soren seethed quietly as the raggedy man paced at the end of his bed.

"But I wonder..." he thought aloud. "Are you angry at me? Or at yourself?" 

Soren watched the tattered Human form of Watcher X melt away and morph before his eyes, replaced by the dark outline of himself. There were no injuries covering the doppelganger. His hair unblemished by the silver that now marked Soren's head. He stared at him with firey red eyes, glowing brightly in the darkness.

"It will work," he said firmly.

"How do you know?" Soren asked himself.

"Because it worked before. You just don't remember."

Of course. They must have administered the Castellan Restraints with the same technique and it had obviously been more than effective since he didn't remember it happening. A successful trial only increased his chances of survival and precluded the assumption that he would lose most of his memories. He hoped.

Soren jerked awake for the second time and sat up to find his room empty, devoid of unexplained apparitions and hallucinations. A deep sting radiated through him as the cut on his back tore open with the swiftness of his movement. Pain spread from the wound to the rest of his body as the numbness of sleep faded away, leaving the cold harsh bite of reality to welcome him back to the land of the living. 

He brought two hands up to his face, wiping away the cold sweat that had drenched him. Drops of it poured down his back, mixing with the blood of his wounds to saturate the sheets beneath. Soren breathed in and out, trying to still his heart rate as he rose from the bed. A dark red puddle had bloomed on the covers and he brushed a hand through his hair as he looked down at the mess.

"...ktah..."


End file.
